Over the Easter weekend, I was sitting in a taxi in Manchester waiting for my dad to lock up the house so we could venture town-wards for a long overdue father-son bonding session over a couple of pints.

As my 76-year-old father approached the car, the driver looked over his shoulder and remarked to me: "Here comes your brother."

"Brother? BROTHER?" I spluttered.

"That's my dad."

"Really? Well he must have had a very easy life and you've had a hard one."

Northern cabbies, eh? Doncha just love 'em.

Despite the, er, honesty of the driver's observation, it confirmed something that has been creeping up on me for the last few years: I was turning, and now, at the age of 50, I have turned, into my dad.

Now to me, this metamorphosis is a Good Thing – for my dad is probably the person I most admire in the world.

He is a clever, funny, sarcastic, straight-talking working class hero who takes no prisoners in his puncturing of the pompous with glint-in-the-eye mickey taking.

He is loyal and decent with an intense sense of moral justice. Before he retired, he worked the shirt off his back as a fitter to provide for his four sons and he worshipped our (late) mum like the Goddess she was.

And everyone on the council estate where we grew up and he still lives likes and respects him.

"I've turned into my dad?" I say to my wife. "Excellent. I just wish it had happened sooner."

But as much as she admires – and recognises - the traits I've described above, she has a different perspective on some others I'm either oblivious to or refuse to acknowledge.

"Stop butting in when I'm talking. You're just like your dad."

"Stop turning the telly over during the adverts. You're just like your dad."

"Believe me, when you've had a drink, you are not more interesting. Just like your dad."

"Please don't pick your teeth with the kids' school report. You're just like your dad."

"You call it 'honesty', I call it 'rude' (e.g 'Yes, your bum does look big in that. I like it that way') You're just like your dad."

"If you're tired, can you just go to bed instead of snoring like your father - I'm trying to watch Sewing Bee?"